Child of the Heart Tree
by charlie925
Summary: AU & OC - Ciara's plan to escape her old life & live in America goes awry when she ends up inside the heart tree at Winterfell. As a young secondary school teacher Ciara becomes the new story teller to the Stark children, only to become caught up in their strange problems, like young Sansa's betrothal to Gendry. If only Google maps could show Ciara a way out of this mess!
1. Prologue

_Hello Readers! This story revolves around__ Ciara, a young woman from our time and universe who ends up in George Martin's world. She becomes the Stark children's story-teller, and by telling them relevant stories and fairy tales from our world, she helps them solve their own problems. Although I mainly write teenage fiction, I will attempt to branch off into more adult content, but will change Rating as necessary. _

_I do not own any of the world or characters, that all belongs to G. R. R. Martin. I just own Ciara :) Though just to reiterate, the possession and ownership of humans is wrong and illegal, so just to clear up that Ciara is a fictional character. Thanks :P _

_Here's just one sneak__ peak of a Stark problem:_

_'But I don't want to marry a blacksmith mother! He's going to be dirty and common!' _

_Catelyn looked down at her daughter with sympathetic, if bemused eyes._

_'Sansa,' she said, 'Gendry may some day be king and you will be his queen.'_

_Sansa stared at her mother. 'I was betrothed to a prince before, and Gendry is not a prince.'_

_Arya laughed behind the wall, unseen. She recalled a long time ago, when Septa Mordane had told her mother that Arya had the hands of a blacksmith. Well now Sansa would have the hand of a blacksmith! Arya ran away laughing and thanking the gods that it was not her on the other side of that wall with mother._

_Just to let you know that if you find yourself liking this fan fic, but prefer reading on ebooks etc. I will happily send you the latest version of the 'Child of the Heart Tree' in an ebook format, providing that you either follow or favourite the story and leave a review at the lastest chapter specifying the format wanted, e.g. .mobi or .epub, and leave an email address either there or in my message box :) Thank you and hope you enjoy.  
_

* * *

**Prologue**

A red comet blazed in the sky, turning the water the same hue as the blood that was ever-present on the fateful weirwood. The heart tree wept as she struggled to break through its boughs. For it was here that Ciara found herself engulfed by the darkness and lingering echoes of the screaming children.

* * *

Ciara braced herself for take off, routinely swallowing and yawning, willing her ears to pop. Outside the sky was a murky grey colour, matching the River Thames and the rest of London, yet she still felt a sad pang as she pressed her hand against the cold window and said goodbye. Soon she would be in America and her new apartment. New country, new home, new school.

Ciara had been a newly qualified teacher at a London secondary school, but after Jake, her boyfriend of four years, had broken up with her, she saw no reason to stay in the same city, or even same country as him.

After landing in Newark airport, fifteen miles from Manhattan, Ciara stepped out, blinking in the sunshine and realising that she had no idea where she was going. There were no taxis around and the queue for the information kiosk made her want to cry. One of the other reasons she had left England behind was to escape the queues. With a sigh she heaved her cases to the side and rifled through her bag for her mobile phone. Why hadn't she thought to note down the postcode... or zipcode she mentally corrected herself. There would be a lot of new spellings and differences that she would have to come to terms with. She googled the _zipcode,_ the word tasting funny in her mouth. and pasted it into the maps app. It would take two hours to walk! Ciara laughed at the thought of walking any longer than half an hour. Her ten minute morning commute walk to the station everyday had been exhausting enough. Coach it was then.

Twenty five minutes later, Ciara arrived in Bayonne, New Jersey. She was left alone on the pavement... _Side-walk_... waving her phone in a motion figure of eight to try to find a sense of direction. The little arrow pointed her to a fading-white block of flats. There was no-one around and of course she had no contact number, because she was and had always been, unprepared. Even when she had joined Scouts as a child with her older, cooler brother, she was always unprepared, whether it was forgetting her uniform or nearly setting fire to a leader whilst flipping pancakes. If there was a normal or accepted way of behaving, Ciara usually couldn't cut it. As she stood outside the locked doors of the greyish block of flats, she grimaced at the memories. At least if she had purposely not fit in she could try to come across as alternative or edgy, but no, it was all an accident...like most things in her life.

Looking down the list of names and flat numbers, Ciara pushed the buzzer for the superintendent. No voice came over the speaker, but the door beeped and unlocked. She left her two cases in the hall and knocked on the superintendent's door. There was no reply. She knocked again. Still no answer. Looking around her, the hall was still empty, still silent. Ciara turned the doorknob and it opened.

The room was dark inside. There were two lamps, a coffee table, a worn out sofa, a tank and a metal desk with a bulky computer monitor on top. She was alone in the room except for the lonely turtle that seemed to be staring her down. In the tank she caught her reflection and tried to fix the matted curly hair that had stuck to her face and neck whilst travelling. At the end of the room there was a door with a 'KEEP OUT' sign scrawled across it. Maybe the super was in there. Ciara quietly approached the door and knocked. There was a movement on the other side.

"Hello?"

No reply. Ciara pulled her satchel closer to her, feeling slightly uneasy. She should probably just sit on the sofa and wait, however she was tired, irritable and simply wanted to collapse half-naked on her new bed.

She knocked again, louder this time and was answered by a muffled cough behind the door. Screw irritable, now she was getting angry.

"Excuse me. I'm the new tenant. I would like to collect the key to my ro-" _Ooooo-Ooooooo!_

Ciara jumped back away from the door. The dog's howl had startled her. It sounded like the kind of dog that she didn't want to upset... It was then that she heard the growling and then a whimper.

_What the hell is going on in there?_

She tried the handle and the door budged, but it seemed to be stuck, as though something was pushing it closed from the other side. Now worrying for the safety of the superintendent that she had never met, she put all her strength against the door and heaved. It swung open and she was greeted with a burst of icy wind and dazzling, white sky as she fell from the doorway.

She blinked, or at least she tried to. Her eyes were wet as though she was crying or had used her eye drops. Ciara put her hands to her face trying to wipe her eyes, but screamed to see them stained red. She was crying blood.


	2. A Less Than Elegant Entrance

_Hi all. So I only posted my first ever fan fic yesterday. The prologue to this story. After having read most of the Arya/Gendry and other brilliant fan fics, I wanted to try my own. This whole idea is inspired by 'Lost in Austen' sort of feel. _

_This story will eventually have some more complex ideas involving the first men and children of the gods. We will see Ciara's interactions with other characters and even romance and fights, but more so, I want to show how difficult it is for our generation to adapt to the old world. I know I could not live in world without video games at least. Nonetheless, thank you for the views and favourites. Let me know if you have any ideas, wishes or comments. _

_Geronimo! _

* * *

**Chapter 1 - A Less than Elegant Entrance**

**Ciara**

As Ciara stopped squirming in the dark, the blood ceased flowing from her eyes. Blinking, the blinding light subsided and she could make out a dense forest and a black pond. A boy sat at the waters edge attempting to skim stones against its surface. Around her the air was moist and clammy in the darkness. She pushed at the wall in front and her hands squelched into a sticky moss.

"Help!" Ciara shouted to the boy who then turned to look up at the sky.

"Help me!"

The wind lifted the carpet of leaves into the air and landed them on to the black waters. The child went back to his stones.

She moved back from the wall and peep holes to the outside, but found the ground uneven and loose. Rocks moved beneath her feet and fell somewhere below. _Splash._ There was water below. Looking down, she started to see the dim outline of what looked like a well. She kicked a big, jagged rock down there.

"Damn it!" The rock had still hurt through her thick shoes. But a cry also came from outside and Ciara turned to see the boy clutching the side of his head that was trickling with blood. In his hand was the same jagged rock that she had just stupidly kicked. Ciara picked up a pebble and dropped it down the well, before spinning round to see it leap out of the pond like a flying fish landing right next to the boy. How had that happened? She looked confusingly between the pond and the well. Rocks can't defy gravity. Unless maybe there was a blow hole of some sort in the water. That must be it. There must be too much pressure in the well.

_I wonder if I can swim it?_ She'd have to time it right, unless she wanted to be shot into the air like that stone. Ciara removed the mobile phone from her pocket, placing it inside her makeup bag, and swung the satchel bag across her shoulder. Looking down into the wet pit, she didn't hold out much hope for her possessions. She lowered herself onto the wet floor face down and crept over the edge feet first. Now she was hanging down the hole, swinging by her hands, clutching at wet stone to keep her from falling. _Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, let go._

It seemed like minutes before Ciara broke into the freezing water. As soon as she was submerged completely she could tell that something was wrong. Her body was beginning to spin beneath the surface as though caught in a whirlpool. Ciara didn't feel cold or wet, which perplexed her immensely and would have been terrifying if she hadn't been so preoccupied with motion sickness. Keeping her eyes closed, she could hear the rushing water begin to calm, replaced by the sounds of rustling leaves and squawking birds. The smells reminded her of her favourite season. Autumn was a time before the cold, before everything died, before winter. It was the season when she had last been happy. As she lay there, she wondered whether these were the sounds and smells before death. There was a bright light beyond her eyelids. Was she in fact dead? Suddenly the light left her for the darkness. She opened her eyes to see the boy looking down at her. He had brown, messy mid-length hair and an astounded expression on his face.

"Who are you?" Ciara heard her own voice before she even registered the words coming out of her mouth. She found herself lying flat on the shrub ground a couple of yards from the pond. Her limbs felt heavy, like they did every other thursday when she reluctantly agreed to go to the gym with her friends. However this wasn't a good numbness. She didn't feel that same sense of achievement. This time it felt as though she had been running and had fallen off the treadmill. Now she had no desire to keep on running, and simply wanted to sleep.

The boy continued to stare, with his mouth slightly agape.

"Where am I? Who are you?" She asked, attempting to gather her thoughts. Ciara tried to push herself to her feet unsuccessfully. The boy still did not move.

"Can you atleast help me up please? I'm feeling a tad clumsier than usual." She looked at the boy who seemed to hear her this time.

"Hodor!" He called. From the bushes on the right, a giant of a man stumbled towards the pair.

"Hodor?" This appeared to be his reply.

"Help this lady to her feet." The boy gestured towards Ciara and for the first time she noticed the gold around the boy's neck and the fur that lined his coat. In comparison she felt that her jeans and chequered shirt looked significantly out of place. Whatever this place was...

With a large, calloused, but strong hands the towering man lifted her to her feet, even though she stumbled when he first put her down. The man, she saw was wearing simple clothes that looked handmade... maybe wool. It looked as though he shopped at one of those stalls you saw in Camden Town that sold incense and other things behind the counter. Maybe he couldn't find normal clothes in his size. Ciara doubted that he had ever internet shopped in his life.

Ciara stepped back as the man came closer, now looming over her. He reached down and helped the boy to his feet. She now noticed the metal braces strapped to the boy's legs that had previously been hidden under his layers and coat. _Come to think of it, it is bloody freezing out here, no wonder the boy is wearing fur._ She shuddered at the next thought that it might be real fur.

The boy seemed to be able to stand up with the help of the gigantic man beside him. Amidst the eerie woods, Ciara still had no idea where she was or how she had gotten there.

"Excuse me, but where am I?"

The boy looked older now that he was level with Ciara. A curious and amused expression fell across his face.

"This is the Godswood at Winterfell. How have you come to be so lost?" The boy smiled, and gave off an air of confidence and maturity that she rarely saw in young boys. He acted like a young man of fourteen, but could not have been much taller than a child in primary school.

"Winterfell? Is that in New Jersey?" She knew that she had started using absurd hand gestures. It was just a thing she did when trying to explain or felt overwhelmed. "I was looking for the superintendent to get into my apartment, and went through a doorway... and fell. Did I bang my head? Did you bring me here? Who are you?"

Around her the forest seemed to go on forever, and she realised how alone she was. This man and child could be from some weird cult... Who else would kidnap someone, whilst dressed like that and then take them to a deserted forest. _What if they want to sacrifice me? Maybe I should tell them that I'm not a virgin..._

All these panicked thoughts and more rushed through her mind, and she didn't notice the boy staring intensely at her.

"My name is Brandon Stark. Son of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North. And who, may I ask, are you?"

_Stark? Why did that name sound familiar?_

* * *

_Hi Readers, just to let you know, if you had read the start of this story before the 8th August, then Brandon's age has changed, since I decided to try and keep their ages similar to the books and tv show, e.g. only one to two years older, since their ages in the first chapter/ episode _


	3. The Stranger & The Forgotten Name

_Hi again Cyber World! Just to let you know that if you find yourself liking this fan fic, but prefer reading on ebooks etc. I will happily send you the latest version of the 'Child of the Heart Tree' in an ebook format, providing that you either follow or favourite the story and also leave a review at the lastest chapter specifying the format wanted, e.g. .mobi or .epub, and leave an email address either there or in my message box :) Thank you and hope you enjoy. _

_Also, just to let you know, if you had read the start of this story before the 8th August, then Brandon's age has changed, since I decided to try and keep their ages similar to the books and tv show, e.g. only one to two years older, since their ages in the first chapter/ episode._

* * *

**Bran - The Stranger**

"And who, may I ask, are you?" Bran had not asked this, he thought, with any hint of malice or threat in his voice, yet the woman was now staring back, wide-eyed and fearful. The young lord had simply been curious about this strange looking lady who had flown out of the godswood pool. Bran looked to Hodor as though he may have been the cause of her terror, but then a low growl came from behind. Summer stalked past him, nearly as tall as Bran when the lordling managed to stand straight in his braces. As threatening as smoke and as powerful as silver, the direwolf bared his fangs and fixed his yellow eyes on the statue of a woman.

"Summer." He called his wolf to him, but he was ignored. Summer rarely disobeyed Bran, unlike Rickon's own unruly pet. Bran only found that Summer acted of her own accord when there was a danger unknown to him. The amount of times the wolf had defended Bran, he couldn't count, but right now the woman seemed scared and harmless. She did not also appear to be armed, and had no possessions other than the odd clothes on her back and the large purse that had fallen when Hodor had lifted her to her feet.

The direwolf was closing in now, still moving slowly and determinedly. The woman's face now seemed as white as the heart tree's bark in contrast with the dark, short hair that stuck to her face with sweat.

_Something is wrong._ Bran noticed that the woods were eirilly quiet, as though the animals and trees had joined with the weirwood's watchful gaze. Summer's nose lifted towards the woman's face, as though checking to see if his prey was ripe before it was devoured. A sudden strong wind rushed through the iron forest and hollows of the trees, mimicking a long wolf's howl. The direwolf snapped it's slavering jaws at the woman and she fell backwards. Summer was upon her, muzzle inches above her face.

"Summer! No! Stop!" Bran made to move towards his wolf, forgetting about the braces, forgetting about the frozen ground, forgetting that he was a cripple. But only for a moment, and then he fell.

"Ooo-Oooo-Oooooooooooo!"

The wolf's howl, seemed to bring the lady to her senses, and she ran.

As the stranger vanished into the woods, Summer settled back at his master's feet, as though the woman had never existed. Hodor lifted Bran, and the young lordling used the boughs of the ancient weirwood to swing himself into the wicker basket. Ducking through the other branches, the trio made their way back through Winterfell, and all the whilst Bran looked over his shoulder for a glimpse of the woman. He saw no woman, no figure running through the forest, and he did not see the red sap that lay crusted at the foot of the heart tree, because for the first time since the dawn centuries, the weirwood was not crying.

* * *

**Arya - The Forgotten Name**

Tomorrow would be Arya Stark's eleventh name day, yet she did not want it to come. Not because being eleven meant that she would have more responsibility, as well as more marriage proposals. Although she would still continue to refuse those. _I would rather kill a man, than marry one. _No, it was not this thought that she kept repeating as she whacked the stuffing out of the hanging sack on the evening before her name day. Tomorrow was the one day that was supposed to be all about her, and not, definitely not, about Sansa.

Arya had been looking forward to her name day celebrations for a fortnight. The travelling mummers group had arrived in Winterfell that morning. Arya had thought that their company name 'The Flying Ponies' had sounded girly and childish, yet when she saw the five small men backflipping and swinging from posts in the courtyard, she understood how fitting the name was. Arya had also been allowed to choose the story that they would perform. Bran had wanted a story of the targeryan dragons or of the old gods, whilst Sana had suggested chivalrous tales of knights and princesses. However Arya had chosen her favourite story, the one that had inspired the grey direwolf's name that was waiting for her near the steps back to her bedroom. Though Nymeria's fur was now more brown and black where it was covered with thick mud. The she-wolf was often found scrapping with shaggy-dog in the woods or hunting for offerings to bring back to Arya. Once Septa Mordane had fainted when Nymeria had returned with a giant fox between her jaws. Rob had just laughed and made a fur rug from the pelt for Arya's bedroom. Sometimes Arya would move the fur to the large window sill and lay there staring out beyond the godswood and walls of Winterfell. She imagined herself deep in the wolf's wood, longing to hunt beside her wolf.

With a heavy sigh, Arya dropped her coat to the floor and placed Needle delicately in a velvet lined box that father had sent her from King's Landing. Lord Eddard had already explained why he could not be there tomorrow, since King Robert was supposed to be meeting new potential brides for himself, though Arya could scarce understand why any woman would want to be queen, especially when it meant marrying that great, drunken oaf. She just wanted her father home, and King Robert was the reason that he would miss another name day.

Arya peeled off the sweaty clothes that hung to her body, even in the autumn chill. She had spent most of the day hiding from Septa Mordane and her mother. They wanted her to choose the colour of her gown for tomorrow, but she knew that it would not be that simple. It would take up most of the day's sunlight, because they would want to discuss material, style, fitting, accessories... Things that Arya cared little about. It was always difficult to find dresses that fitted Arya. All of them had to be adjusted. Even when seamstresses had met Arya, they made the waist too tight and chest too large. Arya had often suggested that her mother tell them to make the dress for Bran and it would be nearer to the mark. She did not even want to wear a gown. She had been persuaded to wear one of her simple dresses for her name day, without frills or silk. Her Winterfell dresses were practical and warm. _Sansa's dresses are stupid, _she argued in her head.

A few months ago, Arya had found an abandoned storehouse at the edge of Winterfell. She had strung up some stuffed sacks and attached old practice helms and armor to them. Syrio, her water-dancing sword tutor, had needed to return to Braavos when he had been informed that his widowed sister-in-law had been taken ill. That is all that he would tell Arya, except that he would return. So Arya had to practise her sword skills on her own. Her mother had turned a blind eye to needle and Syrio, but she would never have let Arya train with her brothers in the yard. Ayra threw herself upon the large bed. The fur felt soft against her aching, bare skin. Her storehouse practise had started that day with Arya pretending to fight sea monsters as she rescued her people from tyrants and slavery. However as the light began to fade, Arya could not help but dwell on how tomorrow would be ruined. She would have to dance and be courteous. God forbid she acted like herself!

From her bed, she eyed the dark green silk dress that hung from her closet. Atleast her mother knew her well enough to choose a dark colour, instead of pink or pale blue. Sansa would probably wear blue anyway, she had the Tully eyes for it. Arya looked like a Stark and knew that it was better that she wore dark clothes and blended into the background. With her horse face and staw-like hair, no one would really want to see her. Not that most people looked for her anyway, and tomorrow her name day would be no different. Nobles and those of royalty always looked at Arya with something of pity. She would see these sad smiles again tomorrow, and watch from the side as her sister danced with her betrothed to the ooo's and ahh's of the crowd. _It's not fair._ Arya buried her face into the pillow, willing her eyes to dry. She eventually fell asleep and dreamt of hundreds of stuffed sacks with sword holes in them. All resembling what she imagined to be her sister's fiancée, Prince Gendry Baratheon.

Please leave a review. I'd like to know how I'm doing with this Fan Fic. Have been on holiday last two weeks and have had rubbish internet connection, but will hopefully be able to update faster now :)


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